


Payment in Full

by AndThenHeGotKnockedUp



Series: UmbrellaKink Fills [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves Friendship, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Episode: s02e01 Right Back Where We Started, Face-Fucking, Gang Rape, Ghost Ben Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, M/M, Multi, No Lube, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Prompt Fill for Umbrellakink, Protective Ben Hargreeves, Public Sex, Voyeurism, hurt with little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThenHeGotKnockedUp/pseuds/AndThenHeGotKnockedUp
Summary: When the rednecks at the bar challenge Klaus to add a blow job to the poker winnings, he agrees — confident that Ben won't steer him wrong.Ben lies, sure that Klaus will get out of the situation with ease.(He doesn't.)
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/Other(s)
Series: UmbrellaKink Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942840
Comments: 14
Kudos: 142





	Payment in Full

He’s irritated. And doesn’t he have a right to be? Sure, he loves his brother, but Klaus can be a handful. Klaus throws himself into things with a fervor only to abandon them on a whim. Ben _was_ beginning to think he was changing. Three years far surpasses the longest commitment he’s ever made to anything other than the drugs. They built something up from the ground, travelled the world, had people who relied on them.

Of course Klaus decided to run. 

Of course Ben followed him. Now, they’re stuck at a bar in the middle of nowhere on their way back to Dallas for reasons unknown, and all he can think of is their responsibilities, their cult — _Jill_. Everything he helped his brother achieve over the last three years is miles away. So, yeah, he’s annoyed. Maybe a little petty. He glances at the long-haired redneck’s cards. 

Klaus is going to lose.

“There once was a young buck from Dallas, who sported a miniature phallus —”

The redneck grits his teeth but leans forward. “Tell you what. If you’re so cocky, what say we up the stakes?” 

Ben watches silently, curiously.

“All my money’s already in the pot,” Klaus says, unfazed. He doesn’t look at his brother nor acknowledge him in any way. He’s confident he can handle whatever this is.

Truthfully, down below the hurt, so is Ben. He’s certainly watched Klaus escape plenty of stupid situations in the past.

A nasty smile edges its way onto the redneck’s face. “Then put your mouth to good use. You lose, you blow me.”

That catches Klaus off guard, though you wouldn’t know it if you didn’t know him. He stills, eyes moving languidly from one redneck to the other all the way across the table as he contemplates what to do. It’s been over three years since he last had to turn tricks to get what he wanted, but he’s not adverse.

Ben could warn him about the redneck’s cards. He could tell him to fold, tell him to stop now and just wait for the damn bus. 

Or — or he could let Klaus find his own way out of this mess for once. 

Klaus tilts his head. It looks like he’s made his decision.

“He’s bluffing, by the way,” Ben says before he can stop himself. He’s made a decision, too. “He’s got nothing.”

Klaus meets the long-haired redneck’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll put up a blowie — for the keys to your pickup.” He looks at him through orange-tinted lenses, taunts him with his posture and the tone of his voice. “Unless you’re bluffing.”

The redneck tosses his keys into the pot. “Let’s see it.”

The cards are laid out on the table. All four of the men chuckle while Klaus sits up, startled by the turn of events. 

Along the wall, Ben watches him. 

“Full house,” the long-haired redneck crows. 

Klaus laughs, too, but it’s fake. “Oh. Well, that… that’s not nothing.”

Ben smirks. _Serves him right._

The long-haired redneck stands up, ready to get his prize. He gathers the money in the pot first.

“Fair’s fair,” Klaus says gaily, clenching his fists. “You win.” He gets up, too, and snatches the keys with quick fingers. “And I gotta be on my way.”

As he moves, the three sitting rednecks shift, tense.

The long-haired man narrows his eyes. “You haven’t paid in full, sticky fingers.”

“Haven’t I? Looks like you nabbed everything in the pot —”

A fist crashes into Klaus’ face and knocks him back. It’s a fairly satisfying sight, but Ben can’t help but feel _somewhat_ bad. He knows Klaus can get out of this. Although he may not have taken to being a hero the way Luther or Diego did, Reginald made sure they all knew the basics of self-defense, even if he had to have them beat it into each other to do so. Klaus learned a lot on the streets, too. Ben’s seen him use both to get out of bad fights before. This should be _easy_.

(Ben forgets he’s exhausted from the walk here, forgets that a pale man like his brother would get overheated in the sun, forgets that the last three years have been more peaceful than not.)

The punch knocks Klaus face first onto the table behind him, knocking all of the empty beer bottles onto the floor. Wood digs into his stomach. Klaus struggles to regain his breath and get back to his feet.

Ben snorts and rolls his eyes.

It’s in the moment when he’s not looking, of course, that the nearest redneck stands and slams Klaus’ head back down onto the table. He doesn’t go lightly. The gaudy orange sunglasses crack from the force. Above Klaus, the redneck smirks. “Want me to keep ‘im down, Buck?”

Okay, that’s a setback. Surely Klaus will worm his way out of the hold, though, right? He’ll squirm out, because he’s always been a bit fluid, and then he’ll run as fast as he can. _Right?_ Ben shifts restlessly. 

“Sure, Tommy,” the long-haired redneck — Buck — says as he slowly rounds the table, hands on his belt. 

With no small amount of effort, Klaus manages to turn his head. He’s quickly smashed back down with his cheek against the table, but he can breathe better now. Blood trickles down the side of his face from his nose. His eyes are partially obscured by the cracks in his glasses. He takes a gasping breath. “Well, you guys sure know how to party.”

That’s enough to calm Ben. Klaus is fine. He’s cracking jokes. He’ll get away. The corners of Ben’s mouth twitch up, half-reassured, half-panicked, and he catches his brother’s gaze. 

Klaus is edging more on the side of panic. Subtly stretching out his arms, he closes his eyes and tries to focus. His fists glow weakly.

 _Of course_ he’s going to rely on Ben. Ben nearly sighs but takes a step forward anyway, resigning himself to helping _some_.

Then Tommy grabs a fistful of Klaus’ hair, lifts his head, and slams him back down onto the table.

The glow flickers out. 

Ben takes half a step back. Being dead is cold and empty — and yet he’s not sure he’s ever felt a frigid flash hit him like that before.

Finally reaching the table, Buck gestures to the last two rednecks at the table, who skitter over and hold down Klaus’ arms until his entire torso is pinned to the felt-covered wood. He slides a hand across his belt buckle. “I’m gonna have fun putting you in your place,” he says and unzips himself. 

It’s obvious when the sound registers for Klaus. The realization of what’s to come gives him a surge of energy, spurs him into another round of struggles, but, with three hefty men holding him down, it doesn’t do much at all. 

“Klaus,” Ben says, half-aware of the crack in his voice, “you need to _move_.”

Looking right at him, Klaus opens his mouth. “Don’t—”

Buck flips the bottom of his long coat over his head. “Shut your mouth.” He hooks his fingers in the waistband of striped pants and drags it down to reveal a pale ass. 

“Hey! We agreed on a blowjob, jackass,” Klaus yells from beneath his coat. 

“And _you_ broke that agreement when you tried to steal my keys.” Reaching into his fly, Buck pulls out his half-hard cock, giving it an idle stroke. It’s already thick. “Someone shut him up.”

One of the unnamed rednecks holding down Klaus’ arms pulls a dirty rag out of his back pocket and, with the help of the other, crams it into his mouth before he can say another word.

Ben _tries_. He moves to grab at Buck, at Tommy. His hands sink into their arms, phase right through their necks. “Klaus,” he shouts. “ _Klaus, manifest me!_ ”

There’s another weak flicker of blue accompanied by a frustrated garbled mess of words that Ben can’t understand. 

He _can_ understand that it won’t work. Klaus can’t summon him right now. This is going to happen, and Ben can’t do a damn thing to stop it. 

Buck spits into his hand. It drips thick from his lips, puddles in his palm, and when he fists himself, it leaves a light sheen behind. He shuffles forward until he can drag the tip across a pale cheek.

“Klaus,” Ben says weakly, “you have to relax.” He feels even more disembodied than usual, like he’s not even connected to his spirit anymore, and he’s only vaguely aware of a burning sensation in his eyes. 

There’s a soft, wounded noise as Buck sinks in. Klaus’ fingers dig into the thin felt tabletop. His legs shake. 

Ben hasn’t eaten in seventeen years, but the urge to vomit hits him all at once. He wants to look away. Hell, he wants to leave, to not have to watch this. Sex has always been a line for them. Klaus was never into being watched that way, and Ben never wanted to watch his brother fuck his cares away.

But he can’t leave Klaus alone. Not when Klaus is being raped. 

Not when this is Ben’s fault, at least in part. 

Buck groans. “Tighter than I thought,” he says through gritted teeth. He settles his hands on thin hips and waits until he’s used to the sensation. “I bet you’re loving a taste of real cock, aren’t ya?”

His friends laugh. 

Ben has never wanted to unleash the Horror more. 

As soon as he’s ready, Buck fucks into Klaus without holding back. He snaps his hips hard enough to clap, his zipper digging into skin, and he grins at the muffled yelps he gets in return. When Klaus’ boots slip against the floor, he only pushes him back into the edge of the table. Buck grunts. He digs his fingers into twitching hips. 

His efforts have drawn an audience, too. Most everyone’s eyes were on the game of poker as soon as Buck and his group invited Klaus to play, and maybe that should have been warning enough, but Klaus has seen too much shit to be deterred by a little danger. Now that they’ve moved from duping the sissy to teaching him a lesson, however, the rest of the men in the bar aren’t even pretending not to watch. Some of them move closer. The bartender stands at the closest end of the bar and cleans a spotless glass. 

“Do something,” Ben screams at them. Behind him, there’s another pained whine. He’s furious, face wet with tears he didn’t know he could shed. “Call the fucking cops, you assholes!” Of course they won’t, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to —

When one of the men sitting at the bar pulls out his dick and touches himself right out in the open, every shred of hope Ben had dissipates. 

There’s a smack. Buck whoops, hand still on Klaus’ reddening ass, and pulls out. He’s spent, his cock tinted red. “Hand me that hankie.” 

Flipping the very end of the coat back up, one of the rednecks yanks it out of Klaus’ mouth. 

Ben rushes back to the table. “Hey, I know you’re in a lot of pain,” he says, voice cracking. “You — you have to manifest me, okay? I can stop this.”

Klaus stares at him with red, swollen eyes, blood caked around his nose and down the side of his face, and licks his dry lips. “Don’t think I can, Benny-boo.”

Snorting, Buck tucks himself in and rounds the table to look down at Klaus, unknowingly walking right through Ben. “I thought I told you to shut your mouth.”

“And I thought you were a good ol’ greasy redneck,” Klaus says, flashing him a weak grin. “You _do_ know that fucking another man makes you a homo, don’t you, pencil dick?”

Ben walks around the redneck. “You have to stop taunting him. _Please_ , Klaus.” Even as he’s asking, he knows it’s an impossible request. Klaus always did lash out more when cornered. It was a defense mechanism.

Not that it matters anyway. Buck’s smirk has already slipped into something more vicious. “Tommy, I think you deserve a reward. Come switch with me.”

“What about us?” one of his friends still holding Klaus’ arms down pipes up. 

“Back end’s free.”

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut.

Ben watches hollowly as Buck smacks the side of his brother’s face, as he jams two fingers into Klaus’ mouth. It forces his jaw open. It keeps him from biting down. It kills Ben to see the resignation in those reddened eyes. 

Tommy’s all too eager to stick his cock in. He, just like Buck before him, doesn’t bother to treat Klaus like a human being. He moans at every choke and sputter as his hips work. 

Ben drops to sit on the ground without a sound. He hugs a leg close and angrily wipes his face with a sleeve. The urge to pull his hood up and hide the spectacle from view rises, but he forces it down. He _has_ to watch. This is his punishment.

What did their dad always tell them? They have to work together, or the team won’t succeed. Everyone has to do their part, or it will all fall apart. Something like that. 

As he watches Klaus try to breathe around the cock in his throat, tears streaming from his eyes as the man behind him yanks him back into thrust after thrust, Ben knows he fucked up. Yeah, it was unfair of his brother to drag him on a journey — especially without telling him a damn thing — but Klaus has kept him company for seventeen years. In return, Ben’s looked after him. Sometimes his brother didn’t _want_ Ben’s help, sure. 

This is the first time Ben refused to offer it. The first time he actively worked against him, even if he never expected _this_.

Tommy fists his hand in Klaus’ curls, forces him down to the root, his face smashed into his groin, and groans low and long. He holds him there for a while then. When he finally does catch his breath and pull out, Klaus heaves and loses what little was in his stomach on the felt. It’s mostly bile mixed with Tommy’s load.

“Fucking nasty,” Buck snarls, just barely getting his fingers out of his mouth in time.

It doesn’t seem to bother the redneck still fucking Klaus, though. He thrusts a few more times before coming and stepping away. 

The only thing holding Klaus up on the table yet was the group of them pinning him there, and, when the fourth man lets go of his arms in disgust, he slides back and falls to the floor with a harsh cry.

Ben scrambles over. “Hey, hey, stay with me, Klaus.”

Klaus’ gaze swings up to meet his in a daze. “B-ben.”

But, of course, the rednecks aren’t done with him. The last one — the only one who hadn’t gotten to use him — walks over. He spits on his face, nearly getting it in his eye, and jacks himself over his limp body. It’s over quick.

“Close your eyes,” Ben says hastily, choking on the words.

Klaus listens. He just manages to get them shut before ropes of cum paint his face. 

Buck sneers down at him and turns to the rest of the bar. “Anyone else want a turn?” 

Three more men come over to stripe his face and chest. 

Then the bartender comes over, looks at him with a disgusted expression, and nods. “If you’re not paying for anything, you’ll need to leave.”

Ben jolts to his feet at that, but… he can’t do anything other than watch as Buck and his buddies drag a silent Klaus out through the door. 

They leave him in a lump on the grass, pants still down, covered in come and blood. Tommy tosses the come-crusted hankie at him.

“Klaus,” Ben says quietly.

Wincing, Klaus struggles to move, to pull his pants back up. He drops back down as soon as that’s done. “Yeah, bro?”

But there’s nothing Ben can say to change what just happened. 

Klaus’ hand shakes as he wipes the drying come off with the dirty hankie. 

Because that wasn’t enough, the cops pick him up twenty minutes later. Drunk and disorderly — that’s what they called him. Apparently the bartender phoned them a few minutes after he was dumped outside.

Klaus slumps against the window with his eyes closed, trying not to put pressure on his ass. 

Ben sits in the seat next to the other window. Half-expecting to be rejected, he slides his hand over to the gap between them. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Without opening his eyes, Klaus accepts the offer with a shaky grip. “‘S’not your fault.” 

They don’t talk the rest of the way to Dallas. They don’t let go of each other’s hand, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on umbrellakink: https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/284.html?thread=1312540


End file.
